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It was August 2013. I had just received news that my Vietnam manager had decided to quit and wanted to leave in three weeks’ time. We didn’t have anybody in that office who could run the number of ongoing projects; that had been a failing of mine – I just hadn’t had the time to ensure that an effective second-in-command was in place.
Janez was German, and he had been in charge of the Vietnam office ever since I had set it up a couple of years earlier. Now he wanted to go back to Stuttgart, ostensibly for “personal reasons” but I had this faint suspicion he was joining the competition. If there was any truth to that, it was imperative that a senior person be relocated to Hanoi immediately.
I had received the call on Monday morning from Janez; by late evening I had come to the conclusion that it was a bad time to send any of my managers from the other Asian countries as a replacement for the Vietnam Country Manager. I spoke to our Head Office in France but they weren’t particularly helpful in telling me to do whatever I thought was right.
I got back home late that Monday night and while having a drink, I told Sunita. She was clearly very distraught on hearing the news. I had to answer questions ranging from “Why you go for so long?” to “Where is Vietnam?”
Sunita is my live-in housemaid, and although we share a warm familiarity we do maintain the distance required of a maid and master in conservative India. Of course, we have had sex together although not exclusively in my case. Sunita, I believe, has made love only to me and to no other man since I took her virginity. Although I suspect she has had an ongoing lesbian relationship with her sister-in-law who also lives in Delhi but they meet very infrequently.
For the remainder of the week, I worked my butt off arranging things in the India offices and getting my Deputy up to speed on all the upcoming work. We agreed on an action plan that I would supervise remotely from Hanoi, but he was essentially going to run the India offices. I sent out a message to all my country managers across Asia, informing them that we were temporarily shifting the regional office to Hanoi, Vietnam. Each one of them spent upto an hour on the phone with me as we went through our 3rd and 4th quarter plans and activities.
I wasn’t sure how long I was going to be away, and although I had informed Sunita that it would be a month, I suspected it would be longer. My visa arrangements had been made with little difficulty, and the Vietnam office was expecting my arrival on the coming Monday.
It was now Friday night as I got into the elevator to my penthouse apartment. I would be flying out of Delhi early Monday morning, so I had about 48 hours to prepare myself for what lay ahead, and hopefully a relatively relaxed weekend before that.
I let myself inside the apartment and was surprised to see only one table lamp lit in the living room; normally Sunita would switch on a few more after sunset. But I like dim lighting and didn’t bother turning on any more lamps; letting my eyes adjust to the low level soft light instead. I dropped some papers and files that I had been carrying on to the table on which a laptop rested, and drifted towards my bedroom.
I washed up briefly in the bathroom after stripping out of my day clothes. There hadn’t been any rain for the last two days and night temperatures were around 26 degrees. I slipped into my usual weekend pair of faded denims and pulled a full sleeve lounge shirt over me. Walking barefoot to my bar, I poured myself a stiff scotch and threw a couple of ice cubes into the tumbler.
When I noticed that the ice was fresh in the bucket, I realised Sunita must have done that not too long ago and suddenly wondered where she was. I had assumed she’d gone out to do some shopping but now remembered that it was almost 10 o’clock. Taking a sip of the Laphroaig, I walked across the living room to the other end and knocked on the door to her room. There was no answer so I pushed it open but found nobody inside. I even pushed open the bathroom door but the lights were out.
I was now beginning to get a little worried. I walked towards the full glass sliding doors that led to my terrace full of plants, and pushed them apart trying to look out. I slipped into a pair of sandals that lay just outside the doors and sauntered out. My eyes once again adjusted to the near darkness, and only then did I see her silhouette against the night sky.
Taking another sip of the whiskey, I silently walked up to Sunita where she stood in one corner where the iron railing met a wall. She must have sensed my approach because I saw her move slightly, straightening up, and her hand went to her face in a gesture that suggested she was wiping tears from her eyes. She did not turn around to face me, nor did she give me her usual greeting of namaste.
I walked all the way up and stood barely an inch behind her. Taking another sip of the strong alcohol, casino siteleri I placed the tumbler on a ledge and then closed the gap between our bodies. She was wearing a familiar pink coloured cotton saree and maroon blouse as she stood pressed against the latticed railing. I heard her sniff, perhaps now controlling her tears.
I could understand what she must have been going through ever since I told her about my impending departure. I had been too busy to spend any time with her throughout the week because of an incredibly hectic schedule which kept me in office for very long hours. She had been morose throughout and I did feel bad about not consoling her but found myself too tired at the end of each day to do anything but sleep.
Now, despite a killer week having just ended, I did not feel exhausted or tired; perhaps the thought of a relaxing weekend had pumped enough endorphins into my system. Standing behind Sunita, I bent my head and placed my nose against her hair, drawing in the sweet familiar fragrance of her toiletries. I raised my arms and wrapped them gently around her waist and instantly felt her lean back into me.
My lips and nose were close to the nape of her neck and her ear as I let out a long sigh, my breath washing over her exposed skin. I felt her shudder and then within seconds her body was wracked as she completely broke down; her tears welled out of her eyes and dropped on my forearms, she heaved deeply now, having given up any attempt at holding back the torrent of grief and sorrow. It was almost like she was crying in pain, and I felt a deep sadness as I wondered what our relationship had really become.
I was a foreigner working in India; she was a maid and housekeeper. We were not in love; we like each other very much, we had made love, but surely we weren’t IN love. Or was I missing something here. I had never bothered to question my own feelings about Sunita; to me it was a wonderful relationship with no emotional baggage. But right now, my deepest concern was for her. Would Sunita get used to my absence once I left? I was sure she would, but the intervening period was going to be torturous, or so it seemed.
I just held on to her, my arms wrapped around her middle, just below her breasts as she leaned heavily back against me. Her breathing returned to normal after a few minutes as we stood still in the darkness. My heart was heavy but I was unable to say anything to placate her, to make her feel less troubled than she was. I could empathise; I myself would miss her terribly but I would have enough on my plate to keep my mind and body occupied. What would she do?
After a while, she wiped her eyes with the corner of her saree, pushed herself away from me as I unravelled my arms and saw her turn around to walk back into the apartment. I stayed outside for a few minutes, sipping the malt I had poured earlier for myself. Not wanting my weekend to be steeped in misery and wretchedness, I hoped that the maid’s mood would alter and that she would accept the ramifications of my professional life as a reality that had to be contended with.
When I walked back into the living room through the large glass sliding doors that separated the terrace from the inside, I noticed that some more lamps had been switched on and the apartment looked a lot more welcoming than when I got back from work. I couldn’t see the maidservant anywhere but the door to her room was ajar so I walked up to ensure that she was alright. Through the room, I saw the door to her bathroom was also open a crack. As I approached I heard water running in the sink and figured that Sunita was just washing up, and possibly freshening up as well for the evening. Or what was still left of it, since it was now past 10:30.
As I tried to peer into her bathroom, I noticed a stirring in my groin. Realising that I was actually getting horny despite the fragile emotional moment we had just gone through, I embarrassedly turned away from the door and stepped out of Sunita’s room. What was I thinking! Having lost my tumbler of whisky somewhere along, I walked up to the bar and poured myself another in a fresh glass; then went to the stereo system and put on Shiv Kumar Sharma’s santoor masterpiece and settled in my favourite armchair.
Shutting my eyes, I let the warmth of the malt and the soothing strains of the music envelop me. Twenty minutes later, my maid still hadn’t emerged from her room and I was restless; potentially at opposite ends of an emotional spectrum. I put the glass down on a table, rose and walked back to her room. She was still in the bathroom; I now realised she had taken a quick shower but had dressed in the same clothes as she had on when I came home an hour or so ago. However, I also noticed a pair of white panties and a matching brassiere lying discarded on the floor, so she had changed her underwear. She stood in front of the mirror loosely braiding her hair into a long, very long, ponytail canlı casino which she threw over her shoulder.
I walked in, pushed the door to her bathroom open and stood behind her, my hands gently holding her hips. She was a head shorter than me so we both stared into the mirror, looking at each other’s reflection without uttering a word. Her eyes were clear and bright, not red rimmed and teary as I had expected. There was the hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she stood there; still and straight, her hands now limply hanging straight along her sides.
“How’re you feeling?” I asked softly, barely above a whisper. She only nodded, didn’t say a word. I held her upper arms, feeling the dainty biceps under the half sleeves of her blouse; as I ran my fingers down her arms, past the crook of her elbows and on to her wrists, I felt goose bumps on her skin and the briefest sound of static. I ran my hands up and down her arms a few times as I lowered my face and touched the nape of her neck with my lips.
Releasing her arms, I placed my hands on her hips again and caressed their width, went lower and felt the contours of her shank. Beneath the saree and the petticoat layer, I felt her thighs quiver as I raised my hands and briefly placed them on her rump. Never stopping, my hands roamed across her lower body for a while; then up past her hips to the bare skin of her waist. I let them move around the front across her stomach, grazing her navel as my fingers traversed across the smooth flatness. My lips moved across her neck, from one side to the back and over to the other. I felt the lobe of her ear and gently bit on it, feeling the shiver that ran down my maid’s entire body.
Straightening up, I pressed my body against her back, my groin pushed against the firm flesh of her buttocks. I looked into the mirror and saw Sunita’s eyes shut, the tip of her tongue barely visible as it ran across her lips, wetting the luscious softness. They had been touched with a light press of red lipstick and the wetness glinted off her lower lip. I raised my hands from her belly and ran my palms across the cotton blouse that encased the roundness of her breasts. They were firm as always, youthful and without any sag.
My hands were under the drape of her saree that crossed diagonally over her chest; as my hands moved slowly across the fullness of her boobs, I felt the ridge of a brassiere under her blouse. Although she leaned back slightly and her head lolled against my chest, she placed her hands over mine in a suggestion that I should stop. But I couldn’t; instead I began to touch her neck and used a couple of fingers to trace down from her clavicle to the cleavage just above the top of her blouse. “Bhaiya, mat karo” she said, telling me to go no further. She used the more familiar and colloquial term referring to me as “brother” instead of the usual “sir” I wondered about that briefly but let it pass.
I pushed my body against her back, forcing her against the sink in front of which we both stood. The bulge in my pants was not subtle any more; it was hard and obvious as it pressed against her saree clad rump. I found the small clasps that held her blouse together and pushed open the top one so that I could push my fingers deeper into her cleavage. As I did so, I also felt the edge of her bra pressed against the soft flesh of her tits.
Sunita sighed, letting out a short breath as her hands now covered mine but there was no active resistance; she didn’t try and remove my hands. Instead she let her arms drop again to her sides and I felt them against the faded denims that I had worn. I took the opportunity to unclasp the last tether that kept her blouse in place and pushed aside the covering. Holding the apparel at the top of her neck, I drew it backward and pulled it off her shoulders and down her arms as she involuntarily bent her elbows to get the sleeves off. I turned briefly and hung the maroon coloured blouse on a wall hook in her bathroom.
Turning back to her, I unhooked the bra at her back and pulled the undergarment off her as well, letting it fall on the floor next to the lingerie she had dropped earlier. As I pressed against her again, I placed my hands under the pallu of her saree and directly over her breasts. Her nipples were hard and jutted firmly against my palms. I rubbed over them and then took them between my thumb and fingers; her aureolas were puckered and rough as her libido rose up a notch.
I then pulled the long loose end of her saree to her side and stared into the mirror, looking at her boobs. I saw the veined back of my hands as they caressed the large brown breasts, the stiff nipples rising out of the darker brown centres of each tit. I saw my fingers take her nipples and rub them to an even stiffer protuberance. My hands just wouldn’t stop moving. They ran up her neck, then across her shoulders and down her arms; I felt the side of her boobs as my hands went kaçak casino along the curve of her waist and across the swelling of her hips, again over the saree. Then they moved upwards along her sides till I felt the side of her boobs again, and under her armpits.
Sunita raised her arms, bent them and held on to my biceps. I felt the hair in her armpits and notice a faint musky odour mingled with an under-arm deodorant she had sprayed on after her bath. She moaned gently as my fingers circled around her nipples and I lowered my head to kiss her on her neck and the jawline of her face. The pallu of her saree had trickled off her smooth shoulder and now hung from her waistline to the the floor. The top half of her body was fully exposed; her spectacular breasts large and firm, the dark nipples now very large and stiff.
Moving my hands back into her armpits I felt the soft downy hair, fingering the wispy cloud-like tufts; then I raised her hands up straight above her heads and looked at the hair under her arms. I ran my fingers through them, knowing how sensitive to my touch the hollows were. With her arms still above her, I ran my hands down the sides of her torso, pushing together her fully grown bosom as I ogled the deep cleavage they formed. Once again, I ran my palms across her hardened nipples pulling them with my thumb and forefinger, twirling them around as I pressed my bulge into her arse.
Sunita then lowered her arms; as they fell down to her hips, I lowered my right hand and grasped her own. With my left I continued to caress both her breasts, moving from one to the other. As I did that, I tightened my grip on her wrist and drew her hand backwards and pushed it between my groin and her buttocks. As I shoved myself forward, she opened her palm and felt the heat of my throbbing penis, gently stroking the length along the inside of my thigh against which it hung.
With the maid now gently stroking the ramrod shaft in my pants, I raised my hands to her belly and let my fingers play for a moment in her navel. Then I plucked at the folds of her saree that were tucked into her petticoat and began to peel them out, pulling at the fabric as the edges eased out of their holding. In less than a minute I had teased out the multiple strands and let the entire six yards of cotton fall to the ground like a cascading waterfall. She stood there against me, still rubbing my erection inside the denim as I stared at her bare body, now encased only in the petticoat.
I stepped back for a second and pulled off the t-shirt I was wearing and then pressed back against her, my chest feeling her skin for the first time. The effect was almost immediate; my cock seemed to harden and grow uncomfortably large in the confined space within my underwear and jeans, my stomach contracted as it pressed against the small of her back, and her hand seemed to get hotter as she continued her ministrations over the bulge in my trousers.
Involuntarily, I grabbed her wholesome boobs in my hands and squeezed them tight till she groaned, perhaps in as much pain as pleasure. I pulled on her nipples a little too roughly, realising only when she mouthed a painful “aaah! sahib! not so hard please” It struck me immediately that she had reverted from bhaiya to sahib, but I was past caring about the nuances of her dialogue.
I wanted my maid naked and vulnerable, helpless and unguarded, in my arms. And I wanted it immediately. My hands were around her belly and my fingers sought the drawstring of her petticoat so I could loosen it and strip her completely. Her petticoat was a faded hue of maroon and the top hugged her hips perfectly. Clearly it was a tailored garment and not a ready-to-wear off the shelf item. Briefly, I let go of the knot in the drawstring and placed my hands on her hips, running my palms over the curves from her narrow waist to the fullness of her hips that tapered down along her thighs.
Then, just as I was going back to unknot the string, my maidservant turned around and faced me. Her eyes were open and she was looking up, craning her neck, peering into my eyes. For a second I was startled at the depth of her eyes, the dark brown pools reminding me of a doe caught in the headlights of my oncoming vehicle while I was driving down some rural village some months ago. There was a longing in those eyes, but also a fear; perhaps of the unknown. In Sunita’s look, there was also lust and passion, there was hope and sadness, there was a wanton greed and a complete submission. All of it mixed into an unfathomable depth.
My heart was pounding as I stared down at her, and my arms wrapped themselves around her in a sudden and surprising moment of deep emotion. My hands were on her naked back, clasping her to me as though I was too afraid to let go. I held on to her for more than a minute while my heart slowed down and I realised that I was on an emotional roller coaster without knowing how or when to get off. I became aware of her body when my fingers began to trace the curvature of her spine, running down from her neck to the top of her buttocks. From there, I brought my hands in front of her and once again attempted to remove the last remaining garment from her body.
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